


Player Yellow

by kwlosko



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Domestic, Found Family, Friendship, Multi, POV Second Person, hints of dark background because oz is oz, listen this is mostly just domestic gen nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24307597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwlosko/pseuds/kwlosko
Summary: Your name is Oz.Most people would say that you have no family. You are, after all, a creature manifested solely from the concept of fear and anxiety.Most people would be wrong.
Relationships: Blue | Vicky & Green | Brian & Red | Amira & Yellow | Oz (Monster Prom), Blue | Vicky/Miranda Vanderbilt, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Polly Geist/Yellow | Oz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	Player Yellow

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this in like two hours because I'm Just That Into Monster Prom. Oz in particular. Oz is good and I love them.
> 
> A big thank you to elesteria for betaing and also just being a great friend who listens to be when I come into their dms at random times to babble about these kids.

Your name is  **Oz** .

Just.

Just Oz.

You’re a being older than the perception of time, manifested from the sheer concept of fear, an Eldritch terror with shadowy limbs and phobias dissipating and melding around you in a vague cluster of dread and fright, with a will that your sentience does not fully control.

So you uh. Don’t really have a last name.

It’s also why you have severe anxiety.

But it’s also why you’re here! In Amira’s house. Vicky’s parents were arrested when the human police discovered what they did to their daughter’s corpse, and most of Brian’s family perished in that zombie outbreak on that train when they were visiting South Korea, so… none of you really have a family. But Amira does! An overly enthusiastic, but kind, warm family that insisted on taking you in, despite the fact that all of you are adults.

And so, you push yourself up out of bed and rub at your eyes with an oversized yawn in spite of your noticeable lack of a mouth, awoken by giggles and the clatter of dishes in place of an alarm clock.

Well, no, you have an alarm clock. You just tend to be more receptive to happiness and various morning sounds than to noiseless screaming. Maybe you should ask Vicky if you can record her giggling, to help you wake up…

Okay, no, that’s creepy.

As is, you resist the pressing allure of your fuzzy bunny slippers, changing instead into your favorite jeans, button-up, and yellow cardigan, along with a nice golden watch. You put shoes on at some point, but the phobias are already climbing up your legs and consuming everything below your knees with an inky shadow, so it’s not like anyone can see them, anyway. (Still, walking barefoot on concrete isn’t very comfortable.)

You’re still rubbing at the hollow effulgence of light that makes up your eyes, as you walk down the stairs. God, you’re tired. Being a vaguely humanoid manifestation of emotion, you probably shouldn’t need sleep, but here you are. You regret letting Polly convince you to go to that graveyard rave at the hour of the beast, last night. You do not, however, regret letting her climb into your lap because she wanted to see her reflection in your eyes.

Your eyes are literally encapsulations of light, emanating from the core of your being, and do not reflect anything, and you’ve told her that before, but you decided not to remind her of that. Besides, within a few seconds she was talking about the turtles that she saw because she could gaze into your brain, so… it really didn’t matter much. You just liked having her in your lap.

“ _ Ozzie _ ~” Vicky sings, her dress fluttering as she twirls through the kitchen. “Good morning!” There’s a small collection of plates and bottles on the counter, and you’re pretty sure that she made none of them, because she… doesn’t eat. But she grabs them, nonetheless. Also, you manage a quick good morning, because she’s your friend and you want to acknowledge that you’re happy to see her. Your voice sounds more guttural and otherworldly than usual.

Amira is curled up in the chair at the head of the table, furiously tapping away at her phone. There are purple bags under her eyes, and her teeth are gritted. She’s probably playing Cannibal Crush (the long-awaited sequel to Bone Crush). Vicky sets a plate of eggs, bacon, and copious amounts of hot sauce in front of her.

Brian is seated two seats away from her, his chin set on the table, his shoulders slack. He looks like if he goes any more limp, he’ll fall to the floor. It’s happened before. You join him by unceremoniously dropping yourself into the chair opposite Amira and allowing your face to slam into the table. There’s a vague sense of ache in your cheek. That also should not be possible for a being like you, but you’ve learned not to question it. Vicky places a plate full of raw offal and a glass full of what looks like pureed sheeps brains in front of Brain, and he does not respond immediately.

You spot Vicky’s car battery in the corner, hooked up for her to get a quick shock before going to class. As for you, you subsist off of anxiety, distress, and general negative emotions… aaaand you’re a high school student. You really just have to wait until you pull into the parking lot. Also, Amira is giving off enough frustration to get you through the next hour or so.

There is, however, one thing that all of you can agree on.

“Coffee?” Vicky’s voice is still bright and twinkling, already making her way over to the pot. You have a Keurig, somewhere, but the four of you (plus Amira’s parents) usually drink so much of it at a time that the single brew cups seem silly. 

“Oh, fuck,  _ yes _ .” Amira’s mouth is full of eggs, and some little pieces splatter over the table when she speaks so emphatically.

Brian gives a vague groan in the affirmative, slowly putting a thumb up in a motion that causes his muscles to make a sickening cracking noise, before he moves to push himself into a sitting position.

“Y-yes, please.” You still sound kind of  like something out of the 9th circle of Hell groggy, but you shoot her a mouthless smile from where you are currently doing your best impression of a right triangle.

She gives Amira her coffee with no milk and plenty of sugar, gives Brian his black, and gives you yours with just enough milk to ease the bitterness. She herself takes plenty of cream and sugar today.

You pick yourself up, take your mug carefully between both hands, and lift it up to the phobia currently buzzing around on your right shoulder. It’s Arachnophobia, you think, but they all buzz in and out of you in a cacophony that threatens your sanity if you think about it too much. It opens its mouth in delight, eager to sip down the coffee you offer it. Its pleased little noises can’t be heard by anyone but you, but they still make you happy.

Also, since it’s a part of you, you feel the caffeine slowly wake you up. You don’t have a brain, let alone ATP receptors, so you don’t understand how it affects you, but… Well, there was a time where you used to ask questions about your existence. And there was a time when all too many scientists were all too enthusiastic to answer your questions.

And there was a time where you were surrounded by the obliterated remains of an industrial laboratory, tearing wires and needles out of your arms, your neck, your shoulders, wracked with unspeakable amounts of pain and surrounded by dozens of freshly shattered, bloodied corpses.

You’ve learned not to ask too many questions about yourself.

It takes a few minutes, but slowly the four of you become more conscious. Amira cracks her neck and stretches out her shoulders. Vicky gets up to hook herself up to her battery. Brian picks at his food, focusing more on his little smoothie.

Yeah, it’s definitely not the worst thing you’ve seen someone eat.

Vicky’s giggles fill the room again as she clips a jumper cable to her thigh and jolts, shaking in place as electricity crackles around her.

“What?” Brian drawls, a lazy smirk on his lips as he wipes at his mouth. “Coffee wasn’t enough for you?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment, waiting to finish her charge before unclipping herself and unceremoniously sticking her tongue out at him. “ _ You’re _ eating!”

He hums in thought at that, idly toys with a… is that a human kidney? That looks like a human kidney. Fair enough. “Am I, though?”

Vicky rolls her eyes, skips her way back over to the table and gives his temple a finger-flick. “You should be! How are you gonna learn without your…  _ brainfood _ ?” That one brings a full grin to her face, and you can’t help the quiet chuckle that leaves you. Brian looks unimpressed, but Amira has her lips pressed together in a clear attempt not to laugh, herself.

“That was  _ bad _ , Vick.” But she’s smiling, when she says it.

“Oh, you love it! Now, you both better finish eating! We’re gonna be late!” Vicky chirps, bopping her way back over to the counter. Those jars of blood and bacon grease won’t clean themselves.

You get up to help, both because you aren’t eating and because you just don’t want her to have to do all of the work.

“You seem r-really upbeat this morning,” you murmur as you slip up beside her, your words snaking through the air, caressing her ears, slithering into her brain. You have no vocal chords.

She shakes her head, even as her grin continues. “Aw, I was exhausted! But someone has to get you lazybutts out of bed! Besides… Miranda texted me this  _ really _ sweet message last night.”

Your eyebrows raise, expectant. She doesn't look up from where she’s emptying extra haggis (for Brian, obviously) into a Weretupper container, but her cheeks flush a delicate lilac.

“So… w-when you say  _ sweet _ …” You’re only being somewhat suggestive. Somewhat.

But she squeals anyway, reaching up to beat at your shoulder with tiny fists. She’s still grinning, still blushing. “She asked me out to this big fancy dinner! I’m so excited!”

_ Ohmygodthat’ssocute _ , you think, and you’re pretty sure that that exact sentiment is conveyed in how your eyes widen, but you still need…  _ words _ . “Th-that’s amazing, Vicky. You should t-tell me all about it!”

“ _ US _ ,” Amira nigh screams from behind you, her hands on the table as she looks like she’s about to launch herself in your direction. “You should tell  _ us _ all about it, Vicky. Do you need anything. I’m about to throw all my money at you right now.”

Brian says nothing, but his raised brows and the entrails currently hanging from his mouth convey his surprise and interest.

“ _ Amiiiira _ …” But it’s really not a complaint, more of a giggle, as she flushes deeper. “Okay, I’ll tell you guys all about it on the way to class! But we better not be late!”

You won’t be late. You have a solid thirty minute buffer, considering how long it takes you to get to school and when class actually starts. But you don’t argue with her. You clean plates as she puts things away, and as Brian and Amira finish. The four of you straighten your clothes and freshen up, and then you’re on your way.

Oh, and by the time you get to class, all three of you have given Vicky all of your money.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on twitter @dalbich_sonata I need more Monster Prom friends!
> 
> This might possibly turn into a series but, if it does, relationships will probably be all over the place because I'm a poly multishipping mess.


End file.
